A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1)

by James A. Hillebrecht

  Maldonar’s face opened in alarm at the Bishop’s words, but it was clear he now fully understood the dilemma facing them. Finally, he said simply, “Perhaps I’ll have that drink now, Eminence.”

  Kal smiled bleakly and poured the wine.

  CHAPTER 11

  A Meeting of Warriors

  “The Delmar Inn. The Dining Room. At Dusk. Come Alone.”

  Those were the only words on the slip of paper which the young boy had delivered, the child adding only that the note had been given to him by a very pretty lady.

  Adella.

  As he walked down the street towards the Inn with the shadows from the dying sun as his only companions, Darius felt a curious anticipation, an unaccountable interest bordering on eagerness which had been growing all day. Of course, if Tallarand were right, the woman’s information was vital to his quest, but his sense of expectation went beyond that. To have survived the slaughter of Carthix Castle and come the length of the entire continent to barter the knowledge gained there with anyone willing to pay spoke of a unique and fearless individual, and the impression was amplified by the tone in Tallarand’s and the waitress’s voice when they had spoken of her.

  Oddly, Sarinian, too, seemed to be having its own premonition. For nearly an hour now, the great sword had been muttering constantly in its own strange language, a sure sign of agitation, but Darius was inclined to leave it to its murmurs. He had no desire to listen to yet another lecture on moral conduct and the endless shortcomings of people with whom he associated. Still, the behavior was strange, a foreboding of something significant, and it heightened his sense of anticipation.

  He was dressed in simple leather armor, having left his heavy plate mail in the room of the small inn at which he was staying, and he felt more at ease and less conspicuous as a result. He hadn’t been in a city in years, and despite the seriousness of his mission, he couldn’t keep himself from watching the horde of people pushing past and the endless variety of goods displayed in the stores. After the quiet, closed world of the forest of Delberaine, Alston’s Fey seemed like an endless, constant carnival.

  The Delmar Inn was not just another public house; it was one of the best taverns in the Fey, and as Darius entered, his eyebrows rose slightly at the finery displayed by the patrons. Many were armed and armored, as was only to be expected in such a town, but the flash of silken capes, of polished boots, of jewelry openly worn made Darius conscious of his own plain brown leather. The Innkeeper, a portly little man with a permanent smile stamped on his face, seemed to share Darius’ doubts and showed him to an inconspicuous table close to the kitchen.

  Glancing around the dining room, Darius couldn’t help but think about his shrinking supply of coins. He had spent more money on stabling Andros than he had on his own humble room, but prices in Alston’s Fey had taken him by surprise. Everything seemed dear, everything costing more than he expected, and he wasn’t quite sure how long he might have to remain in town. This Adella had apparently selected the Delmar Inn because of the security it afforded for their meeting, but Darius found himself wishing she had chosen a less expensive site.

  “Can I get you wine or beer, Sir?”

  He looked up into the gentle face of a woman wearing a serving smock and wiping her hands on her apron. The waitress smiled at him warmly, and Darius felt as if he were being welcomed. He smiled back and said, “Just coffee and some bread rolls, please.”

  “Certainly, Sir,” she said and hurried off.

  Yet the young waitress had no sooner left than a woman entered the dining room alone, her sudden appearance drawing the attention of many of the patrons. She surveyed the room calmly, and when her eyes touched at his table, she headed directly towards him. She was sleek and beautiful, moving with a feline grace, and she was dressed as a warrior with a great sword scabbarded at her side. She threw herself casually into the chair opposite him without introduction or permission, putting a leg comfortably over one arm, and stared coolly at him.

  “Can I be of some service to you?” Darius smiled.

  “What did you have in mind?” the woman asked softly.

  Black leather armor with gleaming silver buckles, long flowing hair, flawless complexion, a woman who clearly used sex as one more weapon in her arsenal. Darius, however, found himself frowning slightly, as if something about the woman were not quite right. She carried the sword well and held it at the right angle to be drawn quickly, and it was her left leg over the arm of the chair, the perfect position from which to launch a dagger hidden in the boot. Yet there was still something wrong. Perhaps it was the slightest stiffness in her posture, as if remembering the proper stance. Perhaps it was Sarinian continuing to mutter to itself, ignoring this obvious criminal who had just joined them. Or perhaps it was the woman’s eyes, bold brown eyes that stared unflinchingly into his; yet they were eyes that had never looked upon death.

  As the silence between them began to lengthen, the woman spoke again.

  “So, Warrior, you wish to make a purchase,” she said with a deep, rich voice. “You look well enough heeled. Since you know something of the goods, perhaps you also have an offer.”

  Darius continued to study her for a moment before saying, “Yes, and one of inestimable value. I can offer the survival of thousands of people sheltering behind the walls of Jalan’s Drift.”

  “What?” the woman blinked. “I mean money. What money have you to offer?”

  Again, that slight uncertainty clashed with whom she claimed to be. Could a mere serving maid have somehow come by the information and was now trying to pass herself off as a redoubtable thief? He shook his head slightly, none of the impressions making sense.

  “As to money, I’m afraid I have little,” he said finally. “I might be able to pay for a meal for you here if that’s of any use.”

  “I have expenses,” the woman shot back. “Major expenses. This information did not come cheap, and I cannot let it go cheap. Now I’ll ask you again: what are you prepared to offer?”

  In answer, Darius drew out his coin pouch and emptied it carefully on the table.

  “I have seven dinars, four shillings, and nine pennies,” he counted. “I offer it all to you gladly.”

  “Is this a joke?” the woman demanded angrily. “I’m asking for thousands of dinars, not pocket change! A man riding a magnificent stallion, with flawless armor and such a sword must be able to offer more money than that!”

  “Andros is my friend, not my possession,” Darius answered simply. “And the armor and the sword were given to me as a sacred trust.”

  “Sacred trust?” the woman repeated with a frown. “You mean, you’re a…a…”

  “A Paladin,” he finished for her. “So you can see that seven dinars is actually a fairly generous offer for me. Come. Be sensible. You stand to be seven dinars richer in exchange for a few quiet moments of talk.”

  The woman blinked again, clearly unsure of how to respond, and she looked down at the money as he slipped it back into the pouch, the offer having an unexpected appeal. But before either of them could speak again, there came a sudden roar from Sarinian.

  Devil’s spawn! the sword raged. Evil Incarnate! Beware!

  “Eh?” frowned Darius.

  “What?” the woman asked, her ears deaf.

  Behind you, Inglorion! the sword cried. Evil behind! Beware!

  Darius spun swiftly and found himself staring at an old man in a stained apron who was slowly clearing the cups and dishes from the table behind them. Startled, the old man looked up, and Darius looked into cool blue eyes that age had not touched; but eyes that had looked upon death, many deaths.

  In an instant, the figure had dropped the dishes and fled, knowing the disguise had been penetrated. Darius leaped to his feet and charged in pursuit, the game suddenly clear as he left the surprised actress behind at the table and chased the true quarry. He brushed aside the waitress bringing his bread and coffee and pushed through the door into the back room, a wave of heat and th
e aroma of cooking striking his face. The kitchen was filled with benches, shelves, stoves, and sinks, and three women were looking up in surprise from their tasks, clearly bewildered by this intrusion. But off to the side was a back door, already swinging shut. He rushed through it, knowing his opponent was only a few steps ahead, and emerged into a back alley that seemed completely deserted.

  He paused, uncertain, looking carefully to the left, then to the right, sure the figure could not have reached the ends of the alley without being seen, yet finding no one in sight. He looked upwards, but the two buildings were both tall, and he could not believe anyone could have scaled the walls in such a short time.

  Behind the wall, Inglorion! Sarinian cried. It is behind the wall!

  Darius stared directly ahead at the blank wooden wall of the adjacent building and saw immediately that there was neither door nor window through which the individual could have escaped. Yet there was no doubting Sarinian. Some garbage from the kitchen lay on the ground directly before him, and he noticed it had been smeared in the direction of the wall. Yet the fugitive had been far too alert and agile to have simply tramped it under foot.

  On sudden impulse, Darius threw himself to the ground and rolled directly against the wooden wall. He found the lower section of the wall dropping inwards as he hit it, a spring-braced trap door, and the next moment, he was inside the building in some kind of store room. He sprung to his feet and found himself facing a startled woman with beautiful black hair and sky-blue eyes.

  “You, I presume, are Adella,” he said easily.

  The woman had paused to strip off the old man’s clothes and reveal a young woman’s day dress beneath, a change so complete that Darius would have rushed right past her on the street if Sarinian gave no warning. Her nose had the slightest hook that had helped considerably with her masculine disguise and now saved her from attracting too much unwanted attention to her beauty. But the delay was proving expensive. He saw he could easily block the woman’s escape through the room’s one door.

  “Clever, Glory Man,” she said softly, her voice far more feminine than he had expected. “Clever. But all you’ve found is your death.”

  With that, she reached inside the small pouch at her side and suddenly drew forth not a small knife but a huge silvery bastard sword with black hilts, the weapon gleaming with power and menace. He could feel Sarinian shivering in sudden fury at the sight. A Living Sword! That was what Sarinian had sensed, drawn to a fellow being like steel to lodestone, and based on the Avenger’s reaction, this sword’s nature must be evil.

  Darius in turn drew Sarinian from its own scabbard, the two blades gleaming angrily at each other, though the weapon seemed to have no effect on Adella. She simply crouched slightly and began edging her way towards the door, the motion both an offer and a threat.

  With a single step, Darius cut off her retreat and declared his intention.

  “It seems I’ve something of value with which to bargain now,” he said with a small smile. “Surely a safe escape is worth a few whispered words.”

  But Adella shook her head slightly, as if at a naive child. “You have much to learn about business.”

  In that instant, she launched herself forward, the great silvery blade whistling through the still air to be met by the guard of Sarinian. An explosion of sparks flew as the swords collided, and the force of the meeting drove both warriors a little apart, leaving them blinking momentarily. The Avenger seemed to quiver in Darius’ hand, its energy surging in a way he had never felt before, and it took strength of both arm and will to keep the weapon under control. But if Adella was experiencing a similar reaction from her own sword, she showed no sign of it. She swung the sword hard again, apparently determined to test the weapons one more time, and Darius easily moved to block the blow.

  To his surprise, the woman fell to one knee as she swung, the sword striking lower, and he had to react quickly or the sword would have ripped into his thigh. The sparks flew again, but while Darius resisted the force and held Sarinian steady, Adella let the momentum of the meeting spin her around, completing an entire circle as she slashed viciously at her opponent’s ankles. The blow was unblockable, and Darius literally had to throw himself off his feet, crashing to the floor, to avoid being crippled. Like lightning, Adella launched the killing stroke, the sword flying down upon him, but Darius flung Sarinian upwards and caught the blow, putting out his strength to shove back his attacker and buy a little room.

  He thrust the sword at the woman, forcing her back still further and allowing him to scramble quickly back to his feet. For a moment, they stared at each other, and Darius could read in the tiny spark of surprise in the woman’s eyes how many warriors had fallen to those first simple ploys. He understood both the surprise and the success. Warriors were carefully schooled to aim for killing areas, the head and torso, and to avoid striking at the opponent’s limbs, where even a successful hit might leave them open for a deadly counter-strike. But Adella was a thief, and she had clearly studied the warrior’s code and had found the weaknesses she could exploit with her own skills. She counted on speed, surprise, and the unerring accuracy of the silver sword to cripple her opponents and avoid the counter-stroke, allowing her to either flee or finish them off at leisure.

  Suddenly, Adella launched another attack, the sword seeking blood again, but this time, Darius gave ground, refusing to let the woman close where her blinding speed might find an opening. A blow to the left, to the right, an overhead feign followed by a quick thrust that nearly squewered him, and Darius retaliated with a sweeping thrust by Sarinian that forced the woman to back away again. Now Darius advanced, using his great strength to loop the Avenger back and forth before him like a monstrous propeller, driving the woman towards a corner and leaving her no opening to exploit. Desperately, Adella somersaulted to the left, flinging her sword behind her to block the blow, sparks flying again as the blades collided, but the force of the explosion knocked her off balance in the middle of the maneuver, leaving her momentarily vulnerable. Darius leaped to the attack, swinging down hard at the exposed sword arm, but the blow never landed.

  To his surprise, the woman rolled with astonishing speed to the right and struck back at him with a wild backhand stroke, the silver sword doing her aiming for her. Trap! his mind screamed, and he pulled Sarinian back in time to parry just enough of the blow to save his life. The silvery blade crashed through his leather armor, and there was a searing pain in his side, as if edged flame had cut through him. He spun and rolled, bringing Sarinian around, but the woman was still behind him and already lunging in for the kill. He managed to catch the blade on Sarinian’s hilts, thrusting back with an armored elbow that scored partially in the woman’s stomach and received a grunt of pain. But he was still vulnerable, the initiative still hers. A desperate plan flashed into his mind, and he acted on it immediately.

  Darius flung himself towards the side wall, a basic maneuver taught to every warrior to cover his back when the opponent had the advantage, but he stopped himself in mid-step, braced his left foot, and swung with all his might blindly behind. His training told him no opponent could possibly intercept him, his instincts certain that this one would. And his instincts proved right. Adella had anticipated the move to get to the wall, had been waiting for it, and was lunging at the same moment, swinging her sword one-handed, confident her foe would be taken completely by surprise. But the silver sword cut nothing but air, and the next instant, the blind swing by Darius crashed down on its hilts, the explosion of the meeting hitting Adella’s hand like the kick of a horse and throwing her back across the room.

  Leaving the silver sword on the floor.

  Adella scurried deftly to her feet, blood flowing from a small wound on her hand, a tiny repayment for the gash she had put in his side. Her eyes were sharp and wary, but they showed no sign of fear as she studied Darius, standing now with Sarinian at the ready and one foot planted firmly on the deadly weapon which had wounded him. The sparks from the
battle had started an entire series of small fires among the contents of the store room, and already the smoke was beginning to thicken. Soon, they would both be standing in an inferno.

  Strike! raged Sarinian. This woman must be destroyed! Strike quickly, before she tries to flee!

  Darius stood silently, trying to quell his own battle-lust, and he saw a red glint in the woman’s eyes, the hint of his own blood being devoured by her body. He fought down his revulsion at the sight, tried to clear his head. He studied the woman, felt the quiver in the sword beneath his feet, and thought of the enemies coming down upon them from every side. No solution made sense, every scenario leading to trouble, but once again, his instincts flared, offering an outrageous idea. A long moment he hesitated, weighing his options, and then he made his choice.

  He took his foot off the sword and kicked it over to where Adella stood.

  The woman’s jaw fell open in astonishment, none of her plans or calculations having considered this possibility, and she froze, fearing a trap. Cautiously, she bent down, her hand reaching for the sword, her eyes never leaving her opponent. But Darius made no move, and a moment later, Adella stood, Bloodseeker once more in her hands. A slow, puzzled smile came to the woman’s face, unsure whether she faced a wise man or a fool, but a sound from outside the building broke their concentration. The incessant clanging of a fire alarm warned them that the smoke from the fire had been clearly seen by people outside, and the fire brigade was rushing to investigate.

  “No time to continue our game now,” the woman said with a slow smile. “But fear you not, Glory Man. Our paths will touch again.”

  She raised the great sword as if to strike once more, and Darius braced himself. But instead of a blow, the silver blade swept down in the graceful arc of a warrior’s salute, a tribute both to the courage and the generosity of the man before her. She let the momentum of the gesture swing her backwards, and in a wink, she was gone, slipping through the door with a speed which still took Darius by surprise.